Disclaimer: The characters and story originally created by Dmitri Glukhovsky in the book and video game series "Metro: 2033" and its sequels do not belong to me. Those properties are owned by Glukhovsky, 4A Games, and Deep Silver. This work of fiction is intended for entertainment purposes and is not meant to be canonical, though I tried very hard to make it fit within the parameters. I do retain my rights for the creation of my own original characters and ideas. I do not make any money from writing this story.
Song Recommendation: "Infra-Red" – Three Days Grace, "Stardust" – Gemini Syndrome
Chapter Forty-Five: Catching Up, Part 1
Mikhail hadn't known that he had been able to go to her this whole time, that he had already been given clearance to come and see her the very minute he got over his stupid insecurities and stopped listening to the dark whispers that made him doubt that anything good would ever happen again. He tried to absorb some of the optimism that Artyom and Melnik had expressed and manifested for him, for the future. And he was also thinking back with remorse to Katya's kind and open acceptance of his appalling memoirs and raw output without judgement. He wanted to believe in her insistence that Sasha, that Aleksandrya, still needed him. She had said it twice, even.
His comrades had all given him permission to have such hopes where he had forbidden them before, he had been willing to resign himself to emotional and spiritual destitution all to spare her the excruciating flood of memories that he had treaded through. Even if he could have set his own bullshit aside sooner, there were still so many questions, so many reasons to worry. He had no idea what her state of mind was other than what he'd been told, and did she still hold out hope for Hunter or had she really given in to her grief as everyone had said? He wished that he could keep wearing the invisible mask, it had been his security system for so long, but it had finally faltered and crumbled because he had relied on it too much. He couldn't hide anything anymore, and he felt metaphorically naked, stripped bare for everyone to see the scars.
But now Artyom had led him past the point of no return, he'd done as he was instructed and followed his partner into the med bay to initiate this devastating process. His definitive admission of his eternal love for Sasha in the barracks had brought to the forefront all the desires he had locked away after bringing her here and running off to toil alone in the graveyard. It had been evident to everyone at his initial recognition that he wanted to be with her, that time had not dulled his affections in the slightest. They had all prophesized a blissful future and hadn't allowed questions or skepticisms to get in the way of it, and they had done their best to convince him to think of it the same way. And now the answers to these desires and questions lay inside one of these rooms with her. She had all the answers, she held all the missing pieces. So, he held on desperately to that lifeline that begged to hold her, pleaded to speak to her, and the hopeful curiosity which cast a shining light on the darkness.
"Just wait here, I'll give her a hint and you'll see how she reacts. If she's angry or doesn't want to see you, then I owe you a thousand bullets and ten extra shifts."
Artyom offered the outrageous sum and a set of extra watch duties to express his high confidence but that heavy weight was still sitting in his chest and made it hard to breathe. His junior partner, or maybe he was the senior now, displayed one last encouraging smile before turning to knock gently on the first door on the left, leaning his head in to listen for the response.
"Yeah," her airy voice was indifferent, tired, sad, but his heart still began to race upon hearing it anyway. She was conscious now, alert and in pain, probably in even more pain than he was. And he was about to make it so much worse.
"Hey, Aleks," Artyom greeted her cheerfully, turning around to close the door in case this turned out to be a bad idea. Should I call her that name if she lets me in? Or would it be better to call her what he always had? Did she hate that name now? Everyone in the Reich used to call her Sasha, and she had tried so hard to distance herself from that dreadful association.
"Hi Artyom. What did Melnik want? Everything okay?"
What did Melnik want? So, Artyom was already here earlier today, then? The Colonel must have pulled him away from her to assist in the covert mission to convince Mikhail to come and see her. He didn't think it was possible to feel even more guilt, depriving her of companionship due to his childish reluctance, but the weight grew heavier.
"Everything's good, yeah. He just wanted an update on you and couldn't come down here himself," Artyom reported calmly.
Maybe that had also been true? Melnik had given a terse update on Sasha's medical and mental status but Mikhail hadn't really wanted to hear it, knowing he'd just feel responsible for everything on the list. At least Artyom seemed to know all about her diagnoses and treatments, so he would let him take care of all that for now. It seemed he'd been quite attentive and sympathetic to her already, visiting her here every single day, Mikhail would have to thank him properly and profusely at some point.
"Oh, that's nice," Sasha responded with little emotion.
Did she have the strength to feel anything? Would his introduction be enough to stir something in her? There was a long pause. Maybe Artyom was beginning to second-guess this meeting. She sounded so hollow and detached, how would she react when Artyom tried to explain this unbelievable coincidence to her?
"So, someone else has been wanting to visit you for a while now," Artyom's voice was muffled, likely facing the back of the room.
"What do you mean? Ulman's been here, Melnik, the girls, and you most of all, who else could possibly—?" She sounded confused but intrigued.
Everyone else who knew her had already been here to visit, to assist in her care, and to help make her feel better. He had wanted to be here when she finally awoke but how would she have reacted? He was still certain that it would only make her condition worse to have seen him right then. But had he waited too long? It was just as Melnik had said, what was she going to think about his avoidance of her? Would she be angry about that, too? As always, he'd just made everything worse even when he thought he was doing the right thing.
"He was on the rescue team with us, and he's the one who carried you all the way here. You don't know him," Artyom paused and then corrected himself. "Actually, you do."
Sasha didn't reply, likely trying to guess in her head what he might mean by that. Mikhail had no idea what might have been said to her in his absence, though he was reassured by Artyom and the Colonel that no one had broken their oath. Still, he knew that she had told Artyom at least a few things regarding him, regarding their past, regarding their relationship. So, did she understand what he was referring to? What would Artyom say next? What kind of hints could he give without spoiling the reveal entirely? What was Mikhail's hint supposed to be? How would he know when to enter? Surely silence wasn't a cue to open the door.
"It has to do with your tattoo." Oh God, that's so obvious. But did she even remember that she had it? What if she'd gotten more tattoos since then and didn't know which one Artyom was talking about? Here was question number one. What would her answer be?
"I don't have a… that's not funny, Artyom. You saw…? There's no way… I never even told Hunter—" Her loud admonishments echoed through the door.
She was angry but was she angry with Artyom? She wasn't happy that someone had found out about the marking, had she been trying to hide it from everybody? Did she not want anyone to know what it was about? Had she really never told Hunter anything about her past relationships? He hadn't explained much about the tattoo when he revealed it on the railcar but the other Rangers seemed to understand immediately that it related to him. It was his name, after all, but the symbolic branding had been all her idea. 'Because we're going to be free someday, Mischa. We'll fly away from here…' that was her reasoning behind it.
"About your sparrow?" Artyom asked her consciously. Would she confirm its significance?
"Don't… stop it. You stop it right now. Don't ever joke about—! You have no idea what that sparrow means!" Her anger sounded different now. It sounded hurt, it sounded vulnerable, it sounded… like everything Artyom had said was right. It sounded like she might still have some kind of feelings about him after all. Did she really say I was everything to her? Then, what am I now? What can I be?
There were a few more quiet words from inside but Mikhail couldn't make them out. Hopefully Artyom was trying to soothe her or give her some kind of quiet affirmation that he was being genuine. Either way he knew that if he didn't make his appearance, she would only continue to be upset and the situation might get even worse. 'You're hurting both of you by not going in there,' his partner had spoken the truth so intensely. Yes, she'd be experiencing a new kind of pain but the only way to console her was to go inside and do it himself.
"Any time now, Lieutenant!" Artyom's voice beckoned him excitedly. That was as clear of an invitation as he was ever going to get.
He took in a breath and held it in his chest as he reached for the door handle, having to purposefully cue himself to make the motions and watching them happen as if his arm wasn't connected to the rest of his body. Part of him wanted to disappear and never find out if he'd get hurt again or not. But she was here, only a few steps away, and his overwhelming desire to see her face, speak to her, hold her, kept him from running. He gradually turned the lever and tried to take control of his expression as best he could, to keep a neutral face until she recognized it. Until she authenticated his existence.
Everything was in slow motion and he wasn't sure what he would see on the other side of this final partition. Enough of the room was revealed to make out that it was a small space with a bluish glow of light, a large bed on wheels was in the rear corner with monitors and machines behind it, two chairs and a small table were along the left side wall. Artyom was in the first chair, and Sasha in the second. She was gripping both armrests fiercely, her arms shaking, her long auburn hair fell over one shoulder, and her face looked so beautiful and so heartbreaking. She was crying silently, staring right at him like nothing else existed, and then before he could think about anything else, she leapt to her feet and rushed towards him. He panicked and lunged into the room, remembering perfectly about her broken leg. Thankfully, he reached out to catch her just as she was losing her strength and falling forwards.
"Easy, Sash—" he cut himself short, he wanted to call her Aleks but he had forgotten about it in his concern. She crashed into his chest and held her head there, her hands seized his arms intensely as he encircled her with them. And just like that, something clicked into place.
"Oh my god, Mischa?!" She choked out the words, her face already flooded with heavy waves of tears. Her loud sobs were interrupted by harsh gasps for air and half-formed questions. "I saw them take you! I heard the shots! How? My god, where have you—?"
"I know, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Sasha." What else was he supposed to say? He would have to explain all of it to her, and he was completely willing, but he was finding that the responses were getting stuck behind the tears just like hers. He couldn't hold anything back and he broke up his apologies with extremely soft little hisses, wrapping himself completely around her as they fell the rest of the way to the floor. He just barely noticed Artyom walk by in a blur, wanting to turn and thank him endlessly for his assistance but then he heard the door close behind them. He would thank him later.
Almost everything he had worried about for the last few days melted away instantly. She did remember him, she remembered everything. She recognized him instantly even after eight years of pain and guilt had changed him and drawn permanently concerned lines on his face. She ran to him; with a broken leg she ran straight into his arms. She wanted to know what happened, she wondered where he had been all this time. She wasn't angry, she was bewildered and relieved and overwhelmed. She was incoherent for the first few minutes, as he expected, although there was so much that she was trying to say. He knew he wanted to answer everything she was going to ask but the sounds were trapped and contorting. All he could do was just hold her, cry with her, live in this moment with her. Live.
His thoughts and resulting expressions vacillated between sorrow and rapture, blending into this new lightheaded and unfamiliar sensation. The haunting nightmares were still there but the new timeline unfolding was layering itself on top of everything else. Good and bad running congruently. He was overjoyed to be holding her but then he would hear another sharp gasp and unfinished inquiry and be pulled back to the other side of the spectrum. This dizzying effect had probably manifested in her as well, because her hands would begin to relax their grasp as she began a sentence but halfway through it she'd lose her nerve and clench her fingers as another wave of solemnity washed over her.
He continued to console her quietly, stroking her hair and resting his head against hers because she wouldn't relent. Her face was still pressed to his chest as if she was listening to his racing heart to confirm its reality. He took in everything about her, feeling so blessed and so content. Her warmth, her smell, her desperate clutching at him as if he would disappear if she let go. But there were bad things, too; colorful bruises, scabbed over cuts and abrasions, the brace around her left knee, and she was shivering both from the emotion and because she was only wearing a loose hospital gown and those oversized socks with the rubber bits.
"What… happened?" She breathed deeply in between the words. "Where have you—? Have you… been here this whole...?"
"No, I was… I've been…" he started to reply quietly but the words were too chaotic to untangle more than a few at a time.
"I don't understand, you're…" she managed to look up at him but he couldn't face her and he didn't know where to start in his reply. "I thought they... they didn't…?"
"They did… they did," was the short but honest response. He needed her to understand what he had been through as well. There were reasons why he left, why he couldn't come back for her, and a reason why he didn't die that day. He didn't want her to think that it had all been a game, that the fascists had staged his death and lied to her all this time, or that he had staged it himself for some reason. No, everything she heard that day was real. He could feel the scars burning just thinking about how to explain it.
"I missed you so much," she kept sobbing and clutching at him. The words stunned him and stabbed him in the heart. She still cared about him. But could she still love him?
"I'm sorry, I missed you too," he squeezed her after an astounded second.
"I don't understand," she said again, hissing as she tried to straighten out the splinted leg. She still couldn't tear herself away from the embrace but he wanted to get her off the floor and back into her bed. He didn't want to make any of her injuries worse. Hopefully she hadn't damaged herself further when she rushed over to him, he would never forgive himself for that.
"Come on," he said softly as he shifted, not trying to push her away but he needed to adjust his hold to help her up. She was still so light but she did assist him so he didn't have to carry her over his shoulders like he had from Barrikadnaya. He got her upright and she pressed her whole body against him and he paused just to stand there with her. Her hair smelled like what he remembered of flowers in the springtime rain.
"Mischa," she breathed out, trying to calm down to ask him the real questions.
"I'm here," he confirmed softly but then prompted her again. "Come on."
She didn't protest his insistence, as long as she was still in contact with him somehow. He leaned down sideways and picked her up, her arms moved up around his neck and she rested her head against his. It was only a few steps to her hospital bed but she still wouldn't let go after he placed her in it.
"I'm here," he reassured her again, managing to sit on the edge of the bed facing her, shielding her with his upper body as her arms kept him close. Was any of this possible? He let the question drift away, consumed with just holding on to her because she wouldn't let him move a single centimeter. She buried her face into the shemagh that was around his neck, suddenly taking note of it and its significance.
"What happened?" She got out a whisper, getting her sorrow under control. "Did they really…?"
"They... I..." she finally released him, enough for him to sit up straight but he couldn't look into her eyes. His tears had dried up when they were replaced with concern and astonishment that her reactions were pretty much everything he could have hoped for but now they were swelling back up again. He couldn't let the flood of memories out all at once, he was determined not to overwhelm her. He considered that he'd simply been practicing this for her sake, processing everything so he could guide her through it. At least he'd had that opportunity to deliberate how he would handle any of this, whereas she was experiencing the raging storm for the first time. This was her railcar reaction. Another question was answered.
"Was it real?" She touched the shemagh, she found the bullet hole.
"I don't know how I survived," he was still trying to figure out his subsistence himself, and the words continued to escape him. The only thing that made sense was to show her the evidence. He pushed the shemagh aside and pulled at the collar of his shirt. The easiest one to show was just below his right collarbone. That was the one that matched up with the hole in the fabric, with the blindfold they had placed on him and then apparently handed to her after the lead passed through and his blood spilled out. Burning and cooling. Don't think about the wall. Her face tensed up again painfully as she raised a hand to touch him. Her trembling fingers ran repeatedly over the texture of the gruesome proof.
"Oh my god," she squeaked, she was starting to understand the full impact.
"I don't know how I..." He finally looked her in the eyes, the sparkling deep silver pools, and released the shirt to touch her face tenderly. "I thought they got you, too."
"I... wished that they did," he noted the past-tense. He had also wanted to die when he was certain that she was already on the other side. But something preserved him. 'No, I want to go, I want to go with her. Leave me.'
"What did they do to you?" He hoped that she hadn't suffered the same fate. It was beyond the scope of imagination to think that they had both endured an execution.
"Nothing, they... I don't know why, they..." she looked away, trying to remember, seeming ashamed that she was unable to conjure the whole answer. "I just... God. Where did you go?"
"They threw me out into a tunnel. I can't… remember," he closed his eyes, this was the only time he'd tried to summon the memories on purpose but paradoxically, they wouldn't obey. "I should have died. I don't know why. Three times, three shots… I should have."
"I'm so sorry," she leaned her head against his shoulder with the scar. She wasn't angry with him. Why wasn't she angry?
"I crawled along the ground," he tried to remember how he had explained it to Artyom. It had been so concise and easy to say to him. "I got to Borovitskaya. Some people there found me; they saved me somehow."
"My God, I can't imagine…" She seemed to understand everything he was saying even though he wasn't describing all the details, he could elaborate on it later if he had to.
"I can't remember… I'm so sorry," he shut his eyes again, this time to hold in more tears. But she reached up and took his face in both of her hands.
"Why are you apologizing?" She searched his face for the answer but didn't understand his continued turmoil.
"Because I didn't mean to! I lost everything! I forgot... I forgot about you," it hurt so much to say. Would she be upset now? "I wanted to remember! I didn't mean to forget!"
"Shh, it's okay," now she was consoling him. She pulled at him again, she wanted to hold him. He gave in.
"I'm so sorry Sasha," he couldn't hold it back. He buried his sobs in the angled section of the bed behind her shoulder and pushed his arms around her again. "Three fuckin' years, I couldn't remember… and then it all came back to me one day and I… Oh, God."
"Mischa," she hugged him tightly, rubbing one hand up and down to give him a steady pattern because she didn't know what to say to all this. Was she building up her resentment, or was she just too stunned to let it out right now?
"I missed you so much… this whole time, I thought you were..." He wasn't going to finish that sentence, not ever. "I would have come back for you!"
"I know. It's okay. I missed you, too," she cooed next to his ear, trying to pick him up to look at him again. He took a deep breath and managed to comply.
"I'm so sorry. I'm sorry you had to stay there, you had to stay there without me for so long. I should have been there!" He looked away as if he could see the alternative timeline right next to them. It would always be unattainable.
"It's okay, it's okay, you went through worse than me," she tried to smile but looking at him being so emotional brought more of hers out again, too.
"But you still, and your mom... she... did she really marry…?" He wouldn't say that out loud either.
"Mhm," she gave a tiny nod and pressed her lips together uncomfortably.
"Oh my God," he lost his breath again and pulled her forwards this time.
There was only quiet crying from them both for a while, still so many questions and answers but it was too devastating to bring anything out. He let go of her only so he could turn around the other way to lie next to her on the half-reclined hospital bed and hold her closer. She was all too content to fall back into his arms and rest her head against his heart again. He hoped she could hear all the subtleties in its rhythm, the pressure of the tumultuous sentiments, and that white-hot crucible that continued to burn for her. He had barely been able to admit his love for her to himself because if he denied its existence then there was no chance for it to be rejected. But he couldn't ignore it or deny it any longer, the center of his universe was lying right next to him.
They were soon composed and quiet again, maybe the circuits had overloaded because nothing registered at the moment. She shifted her position, wincing at the pain of her assortment of injuries. He turned and gave her a little more space, leaning on his side to face her. Settling back together, she reached for his hand and interlaced her fingers with his. The question came back - was it possible? Did she still have the same kind of feelings for him? Could he listen to her heart and get the answer?
"So, you got to Polis?" She was softly and calmly asking questions again.
"I don't remember it very well, it's hazy... I… felt the life draining out of me… I don't know how I lived… I was in the hospital for a long time, they told me what happened but…" he shook his head but the recollections wouldn't appear.
"It's okay," she was quick to comfort him and make it clear that he didn't need to hurt himself in order to explain. "I just can't believe you're here."
"I can't believe you're here, either." He smiled for a minute but then remembered why she had come to D6, and that they were in the med bay for a reason. "I'm sorry we couldn't get you back sooner."
"You were really there? On the rescue mission?" She didn't seem to remember anything from the jailbreak or the railcar but he had a feeling that she heard him talking.
"I wish I saw you when you first got here, not when… Yes, I was there. I carried you out of the cell but I didn't know it was you until we got you on the railcar. I almost fell apart when I saw you..." Would she even care to hear about this? "I'm sorry, you shouldn't have ever been there."
"I don't remember very much from it," she shook her head as if she was trying to reshuffle the memories. "We were up in the hotel building, Artyom and me, everything was fine but then it collapsed and... Varnayev was there on the surface for some reason... and Ivanovich, he..."
"He helped us a lot, your Ivanovich. He gave us a whole set of instructions." He tried to focus on the positive things she was mentioning and did his best to ignore Varnayev and the damage he had caused to them both.
"He promised me." Mikhail could feel the front his shirt getting wet, it was hard to let go of her hand but he pressed it against him so he could reach up and wipe her tears away as they came out. "They put him in the truck with me, he said he would get me out of there and... and someone called my name."
"Artyom told me everything," he started to explain so she wouldn't have to.
She couldn't produce any more of the story; he had taken over at the right moment. She took a fistful of his damp shirt and sniffed back more tears.
"He's a brave kid, he was so worried about you. He got back pretty quick and riled everybody up," Mikhail was suddenly smiling at these memories. "Didn't he tell you about how he had to yell at Melnik? He made a huge scene and went on and on about you. It was pretty awesome, actually."
"He did?" She looked up with disbelief.
"Well, don't take this the wrong way but Melnik wasn't sure if it was worth the risk to infiltrate the Second Unit and he... he thought maybe you were working for them somehow or something. If I had known it was you, I would have yelled at him too." He was beginning to regret mentioning all this, feeling a little sick looking back at what had happened with the knowledge he had now.
"I know, he didn't want to bother with me. I knew he would be angry because I couldn't tell him about my... about mom and... Artyom was so hurt when I told him. I didn't think anybody would come for me at all."
"I'm sorry." Why was he apologizing again? "I understand, though. You have asylum and there are rules that come with that. We talked about it at the meeting when we were strategizing."
"So, you're a lieutenant now, huh?" She suddenly changed the subject, trying to smile as she looked up at him.
"Yeah," he just laughed awkwardly. She looked so cute staring up at him all impressed.
"Congratulations," she laid her head back down and tapped her hand on his chest. "That's a big upgrade."
"Thanks," he gave her hand an appreciative squeeze. It was certainly a big upgrade over a senior corporal but the ranks in the Honor Guard were arbitrary anyway. He wondered if she was going to accept a position in the Order or not. Surely Melnik would approve of her after all this, if not then Mikhail would certainly be putting in a strong few words. Either way, he wasn't going to ask her about it just yet. She had to take her time and heal first, anyway.
"How long have you been here? With the Order?" She went back to the old line of questioning again. It was time to finish exchanging stories.
"Almost five years. And I only got promoted like eight months ago." He tried to downplay his service and accomplishments but then realized the transformation in his personality. Back in the Reich, he would have bragged about something like that. He used to be a show-off, always joking around, overconfident about everything. Would she like who he had turned into?
"That's good. You seem happy," she tapped him again.
But he couldn't reply right away because she couldn't be serious. He wouldn't call much of the last eight years happy by any stretch of the imagination. The story only sounded happy right now because he was explaining it to her, because she was right here in his arms and he couldn't suppress the joy that came from that.
"I really haven't been… but I am now," he managed the remark uneasily. His heart pounded in his ears, almost blocking out her response to what he deemed a bold statement. Please tell me you feel the same.
"Me too," she breathed out comfortably, settling herself in under his chin. "Don't go."
"I'm not goin' anywhere," he kissed the top of her head. Oh my God, it's possible. She might still... Was it worth the risk to say how he felt? To ask her? No, it was too scary, too sensitive to solicit such a thing right now. She might answer one way or the other without really meaning it. After all, an hour ago she still considered him a ghost. And how was he ever going to explain that he'd avoided her for almost a week?
"What about the rest of the time?" She was prompting him again. That was okay, he could talk about that.
"I don't even… I lost everything. I mean I really... I forgot all of it. Selective retrograde amnesia. I lost a lot of blood and... something about your brain covers up the things you can't rationalize and..." He couldn't presently remember all the clinical words the doctors had used to explain this to him but she seemed to understand completely because she had begun rubbing his arm softly.
"I'm sorry, " she seemed to regret asking but still allowed him the space to explain anyway. "I wish I knew that you… I wish…" He thought he could understand what she was trying to say, that if she had known he had survived then she would have come after him. If only.
"I knew my name and shit like that but almost everything from the Guard... even everything I wanted to remember... and especially about you… but I got most of it back, a lot of it, I think," he couldn't string it together any better than that.
"I can't imagine," she said again somberly.
"What about you?" He was so curious about her, about the life that he hadn't known she was still living. His head had been filled with a million scenarios but all he had were the facts that Artyom had given him when they were first assigned together.
"I was... just nothing after you… I think I barely even existed for... I dunno, six months or something. I just stayed... stayed in bed and cried," she sighed heavily.
He had to bite his tongue to keep from apologizing again, it was going to lose its meaning if he said it too much. Instead, he simply held her a little tighter, it was at least kind of nice to hear how much she grieved for him.
"Mom came by a few times but you can guess how that went. Smirnoff had something to do with it, why they didn't kill me too… I think that's how Varnayev got his job finally… and they expected me to be grateful." She growled at the memories and his stomach turned thinking about the people she had named. So, that's how Varnayev got his position in the Second Unit. That was technically his fault, too, then. "Ivanovich visited the most, he and his wife really took care of me, that's how we became good friends. Everybody else... nobody would talk about you."
"It was Felixovich wasn't it?" He accused his ex-friend effortlessly, and they hadn't even really been friends. Mikhail had spent years trying to work out who had reported him to the authorities, who had been responsible for his death. Now he finally had someone to ask. Someone who was there for it, someone who witnessed the aftermath.
"I think so. I never found out for sure. He never said anything but he never talked to me anyway. After you were gone, nobody would say anything about it. And I... I have to tell you something." She suddenly sat up, uncomfortably taking in a sharp breath because she'd forgotten about the injuries again. He flinched and tried to support her but she pushed back at him.
"W-what is it?" He tried to ignore the chaotic storm of possibilities. Whatever she was about to say wasn't anything good.
"When I left, when Ivanovich and I got out... I... I shot someone," she wouldn't look him in the eyes but he was staring at her expectantly. "Varnayev said they were going to put me on trial but they just wanted information about D6." She side-tracked herself but then started again. "When we were escaping, I killed Nikita. He was going to stop us, he was going to tell them... he was just doing his job... I... he didn't deserve that." And she was crying again, covering her face, completely ashamed.
Mikhail did remember the name and the man it belonged to. Nikita was another fellow Honor Guard. He wasn't necessarily a good person but he wasn't a bad one either, he was a loyal fascist but he was never crass or violent like Felixovich had been. He had to make an effort to care about what she said because he'd mostly disregarded the people he used to serve with, but Sasha seemed to feel extremely guilty and was probably searching for absolution. Specifically, absolution from someone who had known her victim.
"Hey, it's okay, it's over," he sat up and pulled her hands away from her face gently, she didn't need to feel this bad about it. It's not as if she could take it back anyway, and he'd shot his own share of Nazis over the years without regret. "You did what you had to do. I'm glad you got out of there, no matter how it happened."
"That's what he said, too," she began to wipe the tears away. He tried to connect the dots but just stared at her blankly until she added in, "Hunter."
He managed to nod his head but tried not to look uncomfortable at the mention of Hunter, still taking hold of her shoulders and finding more soft words to smooth this over.
"It's okay. I forgive you." He didn't know if that's the response she was looking for but it seemed to fit.
"I'm sorry Mischa." What was she apologizing for? For Nikita? For Hunter? For both?
"What else?" he prompted. Maybe he could get her to continue the story and get off the sore subjects but then he hoped he didn't sound aggressive.
"I... um..." she shook her head, trying to get back on track. "We took the passage they told us about, remember?"
"You figured out the rest of it?" He understood immediately, he had suspected that she'd finished what they had started with the Resistance. They had earned a few hints with each completed step of the planned insurrection but not enough to clarify the full escape route or how to utilize it properly.
"They contacted me about a year after... I couldn't do what they wanted from us originally but they asked if I wanted to fight back, if I still wanted out. I wasn't much use to them, until my mom... I guess it all had to happen that way." She wasn't fully making sense, even to herself it seemed. "I… okay, I, yes. I found out what he was trying to hide. When my mom married Petrovich, when I had access. Most of the time I wasn't living with them but sometimes I had to go there."
"You stayed in our room?" Mikhail was trying to sort it out in his mind as she spoke. She nodded her head but was eager to get back to the story.
"So, this one night they got really drunk after dinner, the missive wasn't telling me exactly what they wanted so I had to figure a lot of it out myself. Petrovich was talking in his sleep; he was talking about his family… his other family. I went through his desk soon after that, thank fuck he didn't catch me, and I found these photos."
"You what? Really?" He couldn't believe what she'd accomplished, what she'd been privy to all because of her mother's relationship to the worst man in existence.
"You remember the rumors? It's all true. He still has his wife, his real wife, she's locked up in Stalag Six, in a room outside of it. And his real daughter, the mutated one, they both live there. It's all true!" She pressed, taking his hands and shaking them insistently.
"I can't believe it," that was an automatic response but he did believe it. What he was in awe of was her, that she'd been able to rediscover her source of tenacity and continued to fight and work with the Resistance even after everything that happened. "I mean, I can't believe you did all this. You're amazing, Sasha."
"I went there, Ivanovich got me in there. I talked to her myself and she told me just to run whenever I got the chance. She said there was no way to change anything, someone else would just step up in his place. She was right... but I tried anyway. This took years, Mischa. Two years for all this."
"I'm sorry," it slipped out again.
"Shh," she waved a hand at him, the apology wasn't necessary. It was getting old. "But she was right, nobody would believe me when I tried to tell them, but either way he was getting really paranoid. There wasn't much he could do because I was part of his image and if he called me out or made me look bad then it would make him look bad. He tried to convince everybody that I was his real daughter the whole time and that Mariya didn't exist. But nobody would take me seriously, and even those who did believe me couldn't risk being part of that kind of talk. And then, Masha, Ivanovich's wife, she died in childbirth. So that's when he was finally ready to leave, although it took us months to prepare for it."
"Damn," he absorbed her story eagerly, trying to imagine how he might have helped if he had been there. He tried again to recall if he knew this Andrei Ivanovich or not but it didn't seem so. Then, his mind jumped back to the present time. "So, wait, why did Ivanovich go back then?"
"Because his daughter survived, they kept her. He went back for her," she glanced away, he thought she was distracted but she was looking behind him and nodding at the little table between the two chairs. "He gave me a letter."
"Your hair clip," he remembered Artyom discovering the folded note when they had rescued her.
"I forgive him. I understand why he… at least they gave him his job back and everything. I just hope… well, who knows, maybe he'll try to get out of there again someday and come back to us… I mean, he saved me twice."
"You mean to Avtozavod? I didn't know there was anything down there." He skipped forwards again. He tried to imagine how many times he'd travelled in that direction. How many times he'd passed through Venice, Novokuznetskaya, even Paveletskaya, and had never seen her before now. "Artyom said you run the place, a whole group of people."
"Yeah," she said sheepishly, downplaying her role just as he had with his rank and service.
"He told me a lot about you, I just didn't know it was you until we got you out of the Second Unit."
"So, you really thought I was…?" She looked at him with concern again. She couldn't say it either, it was too visceral.
He couldn't answer with any words, hoping that putting his arms around her tightly would convey the truth. Did she understand about him now? Could she understand the torment he had been living ever since that day? If she was angry about what happened she would have yelled at him by now. But she was allowing him to hold her again, she was allowing everything. That desperate hope sprang back up and drove him onwards. He wanted to fit her into place, to draw back but only so he could kiss her. Would she allow that, too? He had to start sorting this out, right now.
He began to loosen his hold on her, thinking of how best to accomplish this new goal but suddenly there was a gentle knock on the door. Mikhail flinched at the sound but Sasha apparently recognized the pattern and pulled herself out of his grasp entirely as she turned to face the visitor.
"It can't be time already!" She cried out anxiously. Mikhail didn't understand. Who was knocking? He turned to look for himself. Time for what?
The familiar and kindhearted Nataliya entered the room with something concealed in her cupped hand, coming over to them with a sweet smile and not seeming to be concerned about anything.
"Please don't!" Sasha begged with her hands pressed together over her mouth. But why? Don't what?
"Calm down, dear, I already got it approved." Nataliya extended her arm over Mikhail and opened her hand to Sasha. It contained a variety of tablets and capsules of medication and he wondered what they were all for. "And it's only sixteen-hundred."
Sasha couldn't voice a reply, letting out the fearful breath she had been holding and accepting the medication and the report with relief.
"Uh...?" Mikhail didn't even know what to ask.
"Don't worry, you can stay right here, Lieutenant." Nataliya confirmed what he hadn't even feared, sharing her smile and patting his arm. "I'm just happy you didn't get admitted yourself, with all that stress."
"Thanks..." He said uneasily, hoping Sasha wouldn't ask about his last psychiatric hold when the memories couldn't be quelled and he was kept here under lock and key. He was also starting to understand that Sasha was worried about the visitation hours but Nataliya had gotten some kind of override so that he could stay here with her in the med bay. Nobody was supposed to stay overnight that wasn't a patient. Had the understanding nurse cleared it with all of Sasha's doctors? Had they called the Colonel and told him all about it?
Nataliya passed over a cup of water so Sasha could take her doses, then walked to the opposite side of the bed to record her vital signs. She first placed a blood pressure cuff on a long wire around Sasha's arm and pressed a button on one of the machines behind the bed to operate it. Next, the compassionate nurse held out a thermometer for Sasha to put in her mouth and she turned away from Mikhail while she was being examined. Nataliya donned her stethoscope and pressed the long end of it to the inside of Sasha's elbow and looked over at the clock. Mikhail watched everything curiously but tried not to stare at either of the women for too long, not wanting to seem intrusive.
"Any more breathing problems since last time?" Nataliya asked after she had finished counting with the clock and put away the other instruments without comment.
"It's the same," Sasha said nonspecifically. Maybe she didn't want Mikhail to know how bad she was really feeling.
"Well, your heart rate is up a bit but I think we know why that is," Nataliya grinned and glanced at Mikhail momentarily. "How's your pain level?"
"Three, I guess," Sasha replied quietly. Hopefully she wasn't downplaying again because Mikhail knew that the scale went from zero to ten.
"Headache? Nausea? Dizziness?" All the usual questions.
"A little dizzy but I… I ran two steps…" she dropped her head as she admitted it. She obviously wasn't supposed to have done that and Mikhail felt that weight building up again. I hope I didn't make it any worse.
"Oh, dear," Nataliya's smile disappeared and she looked unusually horrified. "Can you still move it the same? Are you sure it doesn't hurt that much?"
Sasha didn't answer with words this time, instead slowly and hesitantly demonstrating the extent of her range of motion within the splint. She suppressed her usual uncomfortable wincing but then got tense and made an instantaneous hiss when Nataliya began to prod at the injured knee with her fingertips.
"I'm sure they'll want another x-ray when Doctor Toporov arrives," Nataliya scribbled in the chart that had been hanging on the end of the bed. "May I see the sutures?"
Sasha bent forwards at the waist and pulled all of her hair to one side as Nataliya peered at the back of her head. Oh God, what else is wrong? What else have I missed? Mikhail wanted to say something, ask something, help somehow, but neither of the girls were requesting his input.
"It's looking much better," the nurse concluded with a little nod and then made her final notes in the chart and hung it back on the end of the bed. "Anything I can get for you two?"
Sasha gently shook her head but then looked back at him as if to ask him the same question silently. Why did the whole room feel so awkward, now?
"We're fine, thank you," Mikhail managed to respond flatly as his mind was still consumed with the facts and figures that had just been presented.
"I'll return in two hours with dinner," Nataliya stated precisely, smiling serenely again as she began to walk away and close the door. "And I'll ask Doctor Orlov if you can skip the sedative tonight."
"Thank you, Nataliya!" Sasha was sure to express her gratitude loud enough to be heard in the hall.
Mikhail looked over at Sasha with a hint of curious concern as he sat up uncomfortably, questioning again what exactly they might be rebuilding in this small space. It seemed that she really wanted him to stay here and would have either fought for that desire or broken down trying. And they had been giving her sedatives along with everything else she had just swallowed, so maybe that's why she sounded so tired earlier? Or was it all the anguish and memories of the Second Unit that weighed on her mind? Even though they'd been emotional as they tried to catch up on eight years of separation, the dark thoughts didn't seem to be dragging either of them down quite as much since they had continued conversing with each other. Did that mean that everything would really be okay? They really could get through all of this together. There might still be a chance at happiness. He wanted to believe; he kept hoping.